It echoed from within the tunnels, the sound of footsteps. A soft haze appeared first, freezing the moisture on the dungeon’s walls. Daiden followed the obscurity to two silhouettes. When near the light, he noticed their pale, blue complexions, their clean leather armours as well. The visitors marched in a rhythm, with clarity. They moved another step, eyes without colour or emotion. One with a pair of daggers, the other with a maul, the strange creatures emanated a sickly presence. They pressured the dome with the haze, closer to the edge this time.

“Very good!” said Leda, also at the edge. “The dome should hold for a while.”

“How frequently can you make these safe zones?” asked Daiden, averting his eyes from the visitors.

“Once every four hours or so,” revealed Leda. “There’s nothing to worry about for now. The rules don’t allow for a breach.”

“What rules?” said Daiden, raising an eyebrow.

“The inscriptions,” explained Leda, pointing to the floor. “I’ve constructed the dome to forbid the existence of anyone but us. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Let’s move in four hours then,” suggested Daiden, hiding his admiration of the dome’s construct. His face crumpled for an instant, remembering the inscriptions on his chest. With a deep breath, he eased into a state of calm and continued, “We can use the time to prepare a batch of meals and rest up. It wouldn’t hurt to have your ability ready in case of emergencies.”

“You’re upset…,” noticed Leda, cocking his head to one side. “But you make a favourable impression. I’ll do as you say.”

Daiden looked away, a little exasperated from the interaction. He tapped at his spatial ring and equipped the Sword of Broken Probability. With another tap, he armed his other hand with a second, new sword. He admired the workmanship of the blade, in a shimmer almost, polished to the point of creating a soft reflection. His eyes rolled from the tip, along the edge, and rested at the hilt, noticing an engraving of Kir’s initials. He stroked the sword against the air and eased from the handle, weighted with a simple, yet functional design. After another look, he returned his attention to the visitors outside.

“They don’t look like anything from the movies,” observed Daiden, of the two humanoid, armoured undeads. He closed his eyes, searching the darkness for his Mioveroldian Knowledge Fragment. The words moved in slivers, with barely any information at all. It formed a vague structure, scattered at first, and then in alignment, stopping at a single word – Fleshbound. With a nod, Daiden turned to Leda and pointed at the undeads with his chin. “I’d like to step out, within the proximity of the safe zone, of course.”

Leda delayed an immediate response, removing some firewood from a cloth bag instead. He poured a clear liquid atop the stack, in a spiral from the tip, and started a fire. He cleaned his utensils next, with a rough, dry cloth. He settled onto the floor, with his legs in a fold, and smiled at Daiden. “You wish to study the Fleshbound…behaviour and all?”

“Yes,” said Daiden, simply. “I’ve never had the luxury of a safe zone before. How do I put it? This situation…it feels like a good, not-so-dangerous opportunity for some reconnaissance.”

“Strange…” observed Leda. “You do have that advantage, and that’s probably the only thing that separates you from the Fleshbound outside.”

“What do you mean?” asked Daiden, confused.

“The quality of an undead is determined by the density and the colour of its bones,” said Leda, slowly. “A newly risen corpse wears its flesh to come to terms with its death; outside of a few minor differences, they look almost the same as when they were alive. The body decays with time, obviously. But that’s when they truly begin to grow…become variants even. You’ll notice this when we venture deeper into the dungeon.”

Daiden lowered his head, muttering a question out loud. “In terms of hierarchy, the Fleshbound are the weakest, then?”

Leda confirmed the former’s suspicion with a nod. “Scouts, mostly. They’re here to study us as well, and that’s probably why they’re waiting for you to step out from the dome. How patient…”

“Anything else I need to worry about?” asked Daiden, at the edge now.

“Well…” hummed Leda, scratching his chin. “I suppose it’s important to remember that this is their weakest state, but only from the perspective of their own potential.”

Daiden addressed the priest from over his shoulder. “Use an example…”

“By raiding the Sand King, you’ve proven yourself to be stronger than a lot of your older, more mature comrades, yes?” explained Leda, with a sigh. “This is despite your status as a trainee. But your potential for growth is yet to stop. We’re not created equal, neither in life nor in death. The Fleshbound outside…I wouldn’t underestimate them.”

“Thank you…” said Daiden, appreciatively. He thumped his chest in encouragement. “This doesn’t change anything. Just like always, one step at time, one story at a time.”

Daiden pushed his body through the walls of the dome, without resistance. The residual matter from the interaction dissipated from the surface of his armour, as steam mostly. He noticed the undeads quietly unsheathe their weapons. A breeze whistled through the tunnels once more, beyond the visitors, threatening the light into a flicker. When the torch steadied, Daiden stirred the aeter from his body and accelerated into a dance. The undeads followed.

At speed, Daiden collided with the Fleshbound Rogue first. He lowered his arms and subtly shifted the weight of his body, with each breath, against each attack, slipping into moments of evasion. But the daggers shepherded his path, cornering him to within inches from the dungeon’s wall. “Fuck me!”

Daiden followed the path of the daggers once more, but parried this time. He forced a standstill and swayed to the side, swerving away from the Fleshbound Rogue. His eyes caught the undead slipping into the darkness right after, distracting him from another attack, from the Fleshbound Mauler. The blunt weapon struck his back with an enormous force, pushing him from his position. His body rattled from the shock, but braced enough to prevent a fall.

“Good. Not a lot of damage, but…coordinated attacks…” thought Daiden, shaking to remove the sweat from his forehead. He relaxed his shoulders and faced the Fleshbound Mauler once more. “Again!”

At a sharp angle from his hips, Daiden straightened his swords with a snap. He watched the undead move its maul in a pattern of rotations, to restrict an immediate assault. His feet hesitated in that moment, for long enough to miss the re-emergence of the Fleshbound Rogue. The undead struck at Daiden’s knees with a kick, breaking the latter into a stumble, while the Mauler batted at his chest to launch him into the air.

“My head is bloody mess…” groaned Daiden, waiting for the light from Ehedus. He dusted his armour and rose to his feet, turning to the priest from Sol Sanctum. “What do you want to know about me? I can’t think straight with your heart-constricting crap on my chest.”

Taken aback at first, Leda recovered to burst into frenzied laughter. “Are you polite or crude? Decide, decide, Daiden Lost! Only you can complete the trade. Weigh my knowledge and offer me an exchange!”